


last ones

by LonesomeDreamer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Apology fic, Dancing, LonelyEyes, M/M, Sort Of, i listened to mitski for the first time to write this piece and it was worth it, post-divorce angst, these two sometimes make heated decisions and Do Not Think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonesomeDreamer/pseuds/LonesomeDreamer
Summary: in the aftermath of a few bad decisions, they meet again.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	last ones

**Author's Note:**

> HAHAHAHAHA yup another tma twitter fic posted by yours truly at uhm 1AM that's fine. totally fine. some of the lines in this (namely some dialogue and thoughts) were inspired/paraphrased/lifted from @/peterllovesyou and @/eliasbtolerates on twitter. y'all are amazing and I swear I haven't had this much inspiration in like ever. I've sat down and written two long fics in the same week!! also yes I wrote two paragraphs about elias being exhausted based on my own exhaustion and physical pain. I needed a reference. side note, I usually avoid present tense in writing but for some unexplainable reason I couldn't seem to deal with this story in another format so enjoy my horrible present tense attempt! anyways, enjoy and please leave a comment below if you enjoyed the insane ramblings brought on by my 3AM writing sessions (some of this doesn't make sense at all I'm so sorry...). sorry for the long notes!!

“So.”

The silence between them is deafening. It yawns, arising from its slumber, and opens its gaping maw even further to widen the divide between them like some vast sinkhole consuming the fabric of their tempered quiet. There isn’t much else between them, and the little buffer that was there is now gone; it’s just the two of them standing alone, oh-so-uncomfortably alone despite the togetherness of it all.

Elias’s words are still hanging in the air, like dying whispers borne upon the stillness between himself and Peter. Any heat that might have once lingered in his tone has completely dissolved; the words flutter like teardrops, rather than embers from the fire of their passions, as they evaporate into pure emptiness and fodder for thought.

“So…”

It had all started inside, this day, with Elias stepping through one door and seeking to speak to Peter. The captain had only just realized that something was afoot when the other man appeared; nevertheless, despite this sudden sense, it was still somewhat surprising for him to see his ex-husband standing nervously in front of him. The two had stared blankly at one another for what felt like eons, uncertain what to say or do.

Elias nervous is practically an oxymoron in most cases, for the man in question would rarely be seen without his usual cool facade. At that moment, however, he appeared a far cry from his usual put-together self. It was barely even a confrontation; he’d offered a few weak words before devolving into an almost-wholly emotion-based apology, occasionally pausing to let Peter get a word in edgewise. That was enough time to give the captain a moment to stand up for himself—not necessarily a normal action for him, either, but this whole day seems to be tuned to the odd.

And now they’re standing there, still staring at each other as if the other will have a solution for what to do. They’ve made their way to the uppermost deck, by this point, and Elias finds it telling that he can’t quite remember how they got there. Perhaps he’s been too focused on choosing his words properly, or ignoring the various observances of the Eye, or the guilt sitting in his chest that he’s tried and failed to suppress.

Or, perhaps, he’s been too focused on Peter.

The captain stands before him, feet planted on the deck and hands in hip pockets. It is all Elias can do to not drink in the image presented before him; as if Peter’s appearance was not already in effect tailored to his fancies—or perhaps his dreams have become tailored to the captain’s image—, the time between them has only brutally intensified the brooding hunger in his heart. There’s something about seeing Peter framed against the ship’s railing that strikes a match in the shorter man’s chest, and despite the damp sorrow puddling there a flame bursts into existence to relight the lamp of burning longing that hangs delicately within Elias’s being.

Soft static fills the background, barely noticeable under the breeze. The wind is heavy with mist, delicate and light on the skin; against the face, it’s far softer than the wretched sting of lonely tears. Though the _Tundra_ is docked, the waves still push the ship to and fro with a barely-noticeable rocking motion. On any other occasion, the sensation might have driven Elias to—at the very least—mild nausea; in the moment, however, the rocking is gentle and still enough that it is almost like the comforting motion of a mother tending to her child’s crib, or the calming embrace of a friend.

_Friends, perhaps?_

They could, at the very least, be tentative acquaintances again, but ‘friends’ doesn’t feel right to Elias. It’s never felt right, in all honesty. He and Peter have never quite been friends—lovers, enemies, teammates perhaps. They have been numerous things in the just as many years that they’ve known each other, but—despite all of that—to say ‘friends’ feels foreign and disconcerting. As he’s pondering all of this, the meaning of the as-of-now-still-broken relationship he has with Peter, he becomes aware of the captain’s lingering gaze and allows a quiet sigh to escape his lips.

“What is it, Peter?”

Although he ought to expect it by this point, having known Elias for so long, Peter still finds himself occasionally caught off-guard by the uncanniness of a question plucked from thin air. Elias’s tone is gentler at present, so the shock isn’t perhaps as extreme as previous instances of momentary confusion—but the captain is fairly certain there will never be a day where the most daintily-applied workings of the Beholding do not at least mildly startle him.

He lets his gaze drop to Elias’s shoes, noting idly that the man’s oxfords are somewhat scuffed—as if they have recently made angered contact with the floor, or with a wall, or with some particularly unfortunate chair legs—and the laces are slightly looser than normal, before looking up at a pace slow enough to be recognized as hesitant but not so slow as to be truly prolonged. It’s almost excruciating to him, making such a concerted effort to hold himself back from what he wants to do—it’s only been a few days and yet—and say. As his gaze pans upward, he lets himself take in the general state of Elias’s dress; something in the back of his mind tells him that the suit the man is wearing—wearing is a stretch, so far from put-together is Elias—is the same suit from the day they parted.

_Why wear it for days? That’s not at all like him…_

He takes several moments to fully take in what Elias looks like; although they’ve been speaking in somewhat hushed tones for a decent amount of time—he doesn’t know how long it’s been, time without Elias seems to stretch on forever and he hasn’t been keeping track—, he never truly gave the man a once-over during their conversation.

Elias’s hair is messy and disheveled, matching his overall state of being. The lines around his eyes, as well as the darkness there, suggest that he hasn’t slept for a considerable amount of time; his face seems particularly drawn and wan. Peter finds himself wanting to reach out and take Elias’s face in his hands, just to run his thumbs over the man’s cheekbones, but he holds himself back with no small amount of restraint. The rest of Elias’s appearance is in a similar state of disarray; both his suit jacket and his vest are unbuttoned, revealing that only one shirttail is tucked in while the other remains untucked, and his tie is loosened to the point of almost being undone.

_He can certainly pull that off, but he looks rather poorly..._

As much as Peter can appreciate seeing the shorter man in such a condition, however, there is a larger portion of him concerned with how on earth Elias sank to such a low place. He gives the other man what he thinks is a worried look and receives a dismissive hand-wave in response, as if Elias knows exactly what he is thinking and wants to dissuade him from his concern; this does little to ease the captain’s mind, but he pushes those thoughts out of his mind and brings to the forefront what he suddenly has the courage to say.

“I’m...I’m not a toy you can just throw away,” Peter says quietly, almost timidly, but the muted tone of his voice is no match for the fact that he is standing up for himself in a direct way that’s rarely happened before. To disappear into the Forsaken is his typical victory, but this is straightforward and demanding of a response—and Elias knows it. The shorter man exhales softly, running a hand through unkempt dark curls and closing his eyes for barely a moment before he looks up at Peter with an almost mournful expression.

“I know, Peter. I—I made bad decisions. I never really put any thought into how you might feel, and that is—that is entirely my fault,” Elias manages quietly, swallowing hard, and Peter’s immediate reply is only a small nod as he begins to attempt to make sense of the slush of his own feelings on the matter. 

Elias is left to stand quietly as the captain thinks, and as he stands the weight of the past few days seems to crash upon his shoulders. It hurts to hold his head up—his pride might be wounded, yes, but at this point the resigned state exhaustion he’s practically become one with has seeped into his bones. He lets his head hang back ever-so-slightly and winces as his neck cracks; the pain shimmies down the back of his neck, along his spine, and creeps into his back. It’s not more than a dull ache, but it’s been there for days and it won’t go away.

There’s an almost wooziness to the exhaustion, to the point where he’s swaying slightly—not around his feet, mind you, Elias wouldn’t dare lose that much control over himself, but the weight of his head wants to pull his skull into a gentle back-and-forth. He can feel the ache spreading, down through his hips and his knees, and he exhales through his nose in bitter humor. Every blink seems in slow-motion, every tilt of the head an exaggerated effort. Even his hands feel stiff—and, when he looks at them, he is reminded of just how empty the space between his fingers is, and his heart clenches. It isn’t just physical, although the effort of keeping the Eyes open is quite draining; by this point, he’s fallen to actually acknowledging the emotional turmoil he’s enduring.

To part from Peter is painful.

To part from Peter is painful, and Elias is prepared to open his mouth and say just as much when the captain clears his throat and breaks the secondary silence that’s fallen around them. He immediately looks up to meet the sailor’s gaze, and the two stare at each other for a wordless moment before silence falls back around them. They are framed by the mist and the railing, the waves gently lapping against the hull of the ship far below, the dull static filling the background; the cargo, the docks, the world has all fallen away and left them there alone as they gaze at each other.

“I don’t think I can stand one more second without you, Elias.”

The words leave Peter’s lips with such an aching rush that it’s as if he’s been holding them in, keeping them sealed inside the depths of the heart he swears he doesn’t have time for. He’s reached out for Elias before he can stop himself, hands settling on the man’s shoulders and inadvertently pulling him near. They’re so close together, in fact, that the captain can see the way Elias’s lower lip is trembling slightly— _did I do something wrong?_ —and the indescribable sentiment rising in his eyes.

“I would lose it all just to be with you again,” Elias replies softly, breath quickening with a hazy ardor that he can only attribute to the confession newly freed from his tongue. “My mind is with you, Peter, and it has been throughout...all of this. I...”

He trails off into silence as Peter takes his hands, filling the emptiness there; they stand together with their hands clasped, reveling in the simplicity of the touch, unwilling to part or step away. It is only then that Elias realizes the static in the background is not the hum of the Lonely that so often accompanies Peter, but rather a white noise most akin to the sound of a radio not quite tuned to pick up a station. His brow furrows in delicate confusion, and Peter laughs in a way that fills Elias’s chest with a throbbing joy.

“We can take it one step at a time. Let’s just be here, together. It’s enough, isn’t it?” he says, stepping away for a brief moment—drawing hunger back into Elias’s throat—before revealing the source of the noise to be a record player. He lets the needle drop with a delicate hand, and Elias steps closer to meet him.

“We can dance. Properly dance….I don’t think we’ve done that in a while,” he says quietly, reaching for the captain’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Peter smiles faintly, pulling Elias close to his chest and savoring their shared warmth.

“We haven’t, have we?” he hums. “I can lead this time.”

Soft music begins to pour forth from the record player, gentle chords that fade into the colors of the swirling sunset that frames them upon the _Tundra_ ’s deck. Bare triads and thirds echo in the expanse of blush-tinged sky ebbing into the navy of night, each note rising and soaring higher until it is once more pulled to the top of the ship where they stand in each other’s arms. Elias struggles to cling to what he knows is real, but he is falling desperately into the quiet fantasies of the music; beneath his skin there is a part of him that wants to twirl and spin in never-ending circles, entwined in Peter’s arms for eternity. He has become part of the other man, he thinks, or perhaps they’ve become part of each other, but it isn’t quite the time for spinning. Though his heart might leap at the thought, he knows that sort of gaiety and fluid motion isn’t yet where they’re at—but he longs to be as close as he possibly can to Peter, and the pangs of longing have little want to leave.

There’s something gnawing at his chest, a fear that threatens to tear him apart and apart from the captain, and although he’s normally one to brush off those fears this one seems to hit home. Both men can feel it, winding in dizzyingly tight loops around their feet. There, in the quiet of the lull in the song’s lyrics, Elias sets his head upon Peter’s chest; the captain wraps his arms around the shorter man and the two sway softly back and forth, buried in each other’s longing.

_Two slow dancers..._

Even when the song ends, Elias just stands there and sways gently and takes comfort in the closeness of it all. He isn’t always one for closeness, and it hasn’t even been that long, but it feels like it’s been forever and he’s starving for comfort—for the _together again_. The hunger hurts terribly, so bad that it has taken over his bones and it’s closed his throat in on itself; his heart thuds in his chest— _it’s just the two of us_ —and, quite suddenly, he feels light, lighter than anything, as if his heart is the only dead weight in his body—and his heart is somewhere in his throat, clouding the words he wants to speak with an emotion that sullies them to imperfection. He lets them die on his tongue, leaving each syllable to be forever unspoken, for the silence needs no interruption.

He stands there, lighter than everything around him, acknowledging in disbelief his strangely newfound sense of groundedness despite the sudden and awkward fragility of his form. In their existence, in their togetherness, there’s grounding to be found, and he wonders why he ever wanted to leave any of that behind. Part of him wonders, in tones of pathetic melancholy, if perhaps there is a way that this might be forever—no more being apart—, but the jagged sense of reality tears him back down to earth— _after all, it’s part of who I am, isn’t it?_ —with no regard for the pain it leaves in its wake. Moreso than that, though, he wants nothing more than for things to pause there. To stay the same, if that were only possible.

“Elias?”

Peter’s voice is soft and distant, as if coming from some mystic location worlds away, and it’s almost hard for Elias to make it out through the accumulating mental fog. In the moment, Elias lifts his head from Peter’s chest and raises a hand to the captain’s jaw; he has no need to beg for a kiss because they’re both thinking about the exact same thing. Elias’s lips meet Peter’s, and the captain has a hand in his hair and the floaty feeling only increases and persists to encompass the entirety of Elias’s body—but now, he doesn’t want it to stop.

_I’ve really missed him..._

It’s achingly foreign and familiar all at once, almost bitter to begin with, as if the world is restarting around them. Each touch is delicate and hesitant, as if one might break were the other to be too rough; despite its best attempts, however, the slow nature of it all can do little to hide the feeling rekindled within them. It isn’t yet passion—perhaps it is too soon for that, after all—, but it is blissful and loving. They kiss, and there might have been something bitter in it to start but it isn’t bitter for long.

“One step at a time?” Peter asks quietly, stepping away, and there’s something in his eyes that makes Elias’s chest seize up. He can’t quite put a name to it, even as he tries to Know what it is, but he can tell that it’s caring and longing and _right_ and for once that’s all that matters to him.

“One step at a time, Peter,” Elias replies softly in agreement, before stepping back into the captain’s arms and cozying into his chest. It doesn’t take much for the two of them to begin swaying again; there’s no need for music, not anymore, and an invisible rhythm takes hold in their motion. There, beneath the swiftly-darkening sky, Elias lets himself fully relax. The shutting of the Eyes lifts a massive weight from his shoulders; exhaustion rumbles over him like a thunderhead budding over the plains and he soon falls prey to its calling. The captain’s grip is comforting and warm—and, after all, if truth be told Peter makes a wonderful pillow.

It is there that they dance, and it is there that Peter discovers Elias has fallen asleep in his arms while standing beneath the stars. He of all people knows Elias almost inside and out, and this quiet slumber is a silent admission to his tiredness—and a testament to the safety he feels, there in Peter’s arms.

_He looks so much younger when he’s sleeping, like the weight of the world is off of him…_

With careful hands, he lifts Elias into his arms and descends into the depths of the ship to find a suitable place for the man to rest. It is more than clear to the captain that Elias is exhausted, and the sooner that he rests the sooner he will feel better—that much, Peter knows from dual experience.

Perhaps, in due time, he will wake Elias up, and they will share dinner and talk. All quiet conversation, of course—one step at a time. There will be things to deal with, words to be said and messes to be cleaned and wounds to be soothed and places to go together.

But it isn’t quite that time yet.

For now, Peter is more than content to sit by Elias’s side and keep quiet watch. Perhaps it is not yet a complete togetherness, but they are indeed together again—and that is the very first step.


End file.
